Hot Flash (12 page)

“Did you see who it was?”

“No.” She lifted her head, gathering her pocketbook and keys in the same motion. “I don't know, girl, probably nothing. All this craziness is making me crazy.”

“Good work, Ms. Dulcey,” I kidded halfheartedly. “I think you lost them . . . whoever them was. But your driving can scare the crap outta a body.” What had really scared me was the sudden recollection that Jesse Boone had driven off from the courthouse in a black Range.

“Let's get some coffee,” Dulcey said, ignoring me. We were out of the car and about to step away from the protection of the minivan and pickup truck when Dulcey blocked my steps.

“There's the car,” she said, nodding in the direction of a black SUV that had pulled to the corner and signaled for a left turn. It was quick—I mean, I turned to look at the car when it was almost at the corner, almost past my point of vision, before Dulcey pulled me back into the shadows. Then it replayed in my head in slow motion—that same crooked smirk that had chilled me to the bone in the courthouse. I could have sworn . . . no . . . yes, Jesse Boone in the passenger seat, his beady eyes flitting around, looking for something or someone. Us, maybe?

Dulcey motioned me forward. “C'mon, they're gone.” I froze, not ready to step from behind our wall of protection. If I thought for a moment that I had not been a victim, that somehow I had stepped over that emotional stain, the moment ended right then.

“You saw him, didn't you?” I said, almost whining. I straightened up, cleared my throat, and repeated, “You saw him?!”

“That's who I thought I saw, too. But what would Jesse Boone be doing in Boston? That's just nonsense. We're definitely losing it.” Dulcey took my arm and guided me into the Stop & Shop to the Dunkin' Donuts. She ordered a regular for her and a black coffee for me.

Back at the entrance, we scoped the area for a few minutes before venturing out.

My cell phone rang as Dulcey made the turn to get on the Massachusetts Turnpike heading home again. It was the hospital. Calvin had woken up.

C
HAPTER
11

A
lighter air fell over me with the news about Calvin. I tried calling his room, but I got no answer. First stop back in Philly, after I cleaned myself up, the hospital.

“We were definitely being followed,” Dulcey said. “Not to worry, though. I got your back, girl.” She cackled and started again. “Like that time I got shot saving your behind. Man thought he had you until I smacked him down. God stepped in when he pulled a gun and it jammed.”

My girl should have been a cop. She could sniff out a bad situation, size it up, make a plan, and carry it out in one swoop. Did I mention she was fearless?

“If you had stayed in the car like I told you to, everything would have worked out just fine,” I said.

Dulcey came back with a vengeance. “If I had stayed in the car like you told me to, you'd be dead. Things happen for a reason, M. Besides, if that no-good husband of mine had taken care of his own mess . . . but you know, drugs do you like that. You mess with the drug man's money, you pay the price. I'm not saying he deserved to be half beat to death, but you reap what you sow, and Hamp is so hardheaded.”

The only time Dulcey got teary-eyed or quiet for any length of time was when she was talking about her husband, Hampton. She'd gone through hell with him after he lost his job and got hooked up on crack, but nothing and nobody could squash her love for him, including him. Hamp was one of those guys drowning in good intentions, always trying to do the right thing and ending up in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong people for whom he was trying to do the right thing. That said, the man was truly a sweetheart.

After a while she said, “I'ma ask you again, you think Reecey is somehow involved with drugs?”

“Mmm.” For once she didn't push. I turned my attention to the outside and got lost in the abstractedness of the passing scenery. I hardly paid attention to Reecey until Ma and Dad died. Then Mount Everest loomed between us, Reecey on one side, me on the other. She was
the
drama queen: sixteen going on forty, drinking, smoking weed and whatever else, looking like a hoochie mama. She needed more time than I gave her. She needed a parent.

Hell, I had just started in the Unit, a last chance to get my act together after two years spent undercover for a special task force to infiltrate the Black Mafia that damn near killed me. I was recruited when I first joined the force, not because of any special talent I possessed; rather, my youth, gender, and color matched their need. I was stupid enough, or ambitious enough or insecure enough—no, stupid enough—to accept the assignment.

For two years I siphoned information to the task force that helped them slam the Mafia and work toward putting key figures away. Then my cover was blown. Those key figures I was working to put away made me an example. They filled my veins with heroin for weeks and then left me for dead in some garbage-filled driveway surrounded by the Richard Allen Hole—what folks called the Richard Allen Homes public housing project—in North Philly. But by the grace of God I stand.

Anyway, keeping up with Nareece's life then when I was struggling to save my own, did not register on my agenda. Even with Dulcey's help, Nareece was out of control. Our conversations always escalated to screaming contests about her nonperformance in school: drinking, smoking, not eating, coming home at all hours or not at all. Always, in the end, she stormed up the stairs and threw out the last words, “I hate you!”

I awoke in a start, sweaty, unsure of my surroundings.

“Dream workin' you, girl,” Dulcey said.

I sat up, rolled down the window, and stuck my head out a bit to suck in the cool air. A half hour later, Dulcey pulled up in front of the house. She threw the car in Park, reached back and grabbed her purse from the back floor, and said, “C'mon, girl, let's go see bout that . . .”

I was out of the car and closing my door on her last words.

The letter was in a hidden pocket at the back of my nightstand. I tore the envelope as Dulcey sat on the bed next to me. Inside a folded piece of paper were photos of Nareece, John, and the twins. On the piece of paper was a typed note from Nareece.

Dulcey gave me her nonsense look—eyebrows lifted, causing ripples in her forehead, lips pursed.

“Don't even ask, girl. I don't have a clue what she's talking about. What she did. Only two things I know that will make a body hunt your behind down no matter how much time passes are money and more money.”

After Dulcey left, I took my jacket off and checked the messages on the house phone.

“Hi, Auntie, please call us. We're worried about Mommy and Daddy and we want to go home or come to your house. We'll be good, we promise.” They spoke in unison like they were rehearsing a script. Two other messages consisted of a hang-up and a message from the hospital.

I called the hospital and learned Calvin was in stable condition, but sleeping. I held off calling the twins back. They needed answers I did not have. The prospect of them staying with me required more thought than I was capable of at present.

First, Calvin. I showered, blow-dried and curled my hair, put my face on, then slipped into black slacks, a light green sweater, and black heels.

When I entered the hospital, the smell of disinfectant mixed with butt and sick made me gag. I held my breath until I entered the elevator, then again until I entered his room. Flowers filled the room, the fragrance weighing down the breathable air. I sat in the chair next to his bed and watched him sleep. He looked peaceful, despite the white lines that peppered his face, healed scratches, and the pink scar that went from the top of his head, cut his forehead in half, and ended above the bridge of his nose. Otherwise, his brittle brown skin was smooth and wrinkle-free, despite his fifty-eight years. He looked handsome in a rugged kind of way, with a few weeks of beard growth. I squeezed my legs together to maximize the tingle and shifted back in the chair. “
Hmph, hmph, hmph
.” I planned to be there when he woke.

My phone vibrated. It was Cap. I moved out into the hallway.

“Mabley, I hope you're better and back on your feet good. I need you here. We need to talk. Now.”

I told Cap I would be at the lab within an hour.

Calvin was still sleeping when I peeked back in the room. I stopped at the nurses' station to leave a message for him on the way out, in case he woke before I returned. One of the nurses said it would be at least another hour or two before the medication they'd given him wore off.

While I waited for the elevator, I said a short prayer thanking God, whom I seldom visited with words, for Calvin's life. An amen and the elevator doors opened. A stately looking black woman stepped off and brushed past me. My brain grabbed hold of a mental uneasiness that stopped my steps. I looked sideways and watched her walk down the hallway, then shook off my foolishness and got in the elevator.

I reached the lobby and called Laughton's cell. The squawk pierced my eardrums: “The number you have reached is no longer in service . . .”

I clicked off. Another call came in, unknown number. I don't usually answer unknown numbers, but with all the unknowns that were registering around me, this time I did.

“Auntie M, please come get us, please!” Rose, or maybe it was Helen, screamed.

“Honey, don't cry. What's wrong?”

“Grandma's yelling and being mean. She won't let us do nothin'. We can't go outside, we can't play in the house. All she lets us do is sit around and do nothin'. Everything we do is wrong.”

“
Mrl
,” John's mother, Ama, said. She had taken the phone from the twin. She had her own way of saying my name, but I couldn't understand anything else she said. She ranted for what seemed forever in Vietnamese without taking a breath.

“Ama, I can't understand you.”

“They are upset. No Nareece. No John. Come to get them. They should not be here. I cannot . . .” And she took off again in unintelligible garble.

“Ama, stop!” I yelled. It took her a few more sentences to quiet so I could talk. “I'll get the girls as soon as I can. I'll call you back to let you know when. You have to handle it for a little while longer. Maybe a few days.” She stayed silent. “Ama?”

“Yes, okay. I wait.”

“Let me speak to one of the girls, please.”

“Hi, Auntie, it's Rose again.”

“Listen, you girls need to calm down and behave. I'll come in a few days, on the weekend. You're not hurt, are you?”

Rose sniffled. “No, Auntie. We'll be good until you come.”

I heard Helen crying in the background. “I-i-i-iss she coming?” she said with a bubbling sound.

Rose said, “Where's Mommy and Daddy? We're scared because they haven't called and they're not answering their phones.”

“Don't worry, baby. Everything's going to be all right. Put Helen on.”

Helen was snorting like she had been crying long and hard. “Auntie . . . please . . . come . . .” she begged.

“I'm going to come and get you. But you're going to have to be good for a few more days until I can get there, okay?”

“We . . . love . . . you.” She snorted after each word.

I could hear Rose in the background trying to reassure and comfort her sister. “Don't worry, Hel,” she said. “Auntie'll fix everything.”

Then the line went dead.

“I love you, too,” I mumbled to dead space.

My head spun. I fell into a seat in the lobby of the hospital. My stomach flip-flopped and I gagged. A passing nurse stopped and asked if I needed help. I couldn't answer. She left for a few minutes, then returned with an ice pack, slapped it against her hand, and set it on the back of my neck.

I managed a smile. “Flashing,” I huffed.

Seemed I spent my days on edge, waiting for the next one to happen, hoping and praying it wouldn't be in the captain's office or while out on assignment, or in a crowded elevator or a store or a movie theater . . . The only two places that worked were in my car or at home alone, where I could scream, shout, dump cold water on myself or ice down my shirt, or jump out of my clothes. I smiled and shook my head at the thought of my aunt Moo, yes, Aunt Moo was her name, jumping around and shouting, talking about the Lord having put the heat in her and how He would lead her to the cool waters of salvation, her version of the true meaning and purpose of “the Change.”

“Hot flashes? I got them, too,” the nurse said and laughed with me. “You might want to see your doctor and get some medication to help get you through.”

“I'm okay now. Thanks again.” When I got up, I stumbled forward a bit like a drunk, then pulled it together and sauntered out. I heard my nana's squeaking voice saying, “
Getting old is not for sissies
.” Hell, I was only forty-nine. What was old? More like being a woman was not for sissies. We are the grand, awesome, wonderful, beautiful gender, but our calling was definitely not for sissies. No, it was definitely the “old” part that was freaking me out, making me feel like I was past my prime, done, with no brilliance left to attract, never mind keep, a man. Oh, but wait, I had never been able to do that up till now anyway—keep a man. I shook off the negative thoughts and went for the exit.

Outside, the cool breeze revived me.